


Not Quite The Honeymoon, Honey?

by Jaseish (Kymopoleia)



Category: LoliRock (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Future AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Jaseish
Summary: Twenty years building up to this. Politics and proposals, first kisses and final dates, trips to earth and trade deals, children and settling and being adults. Twenty years of everything happening all at once, building up to this moment...The bottle cork pops.It's not the honeymoon anymore.





	Not Quite The Honeymoon, Honey?

**Author's Note:**

> to preface: there's more headcanons going into this than canon, probably. yeah.
> 
> also quick thing: zebetta and zebena both mean 'baby' (calixian) (though obviously different connotations pff) and debe (xerin) is more like 'babe'. i'm gonna be using those a bit more because i lvoe them?

Mephisto had married into a lot of things when he and Talia had exchanged signatures on the xerin book and knelt under the veil. He'd accepted her flirtatious bumping hips and her information overloads, her longing sighs and her bursts of suspicion and anxiety. He’d embraced her smiles, her odd habits, and her sweet tooth. He’d never questioned her adoration for her older sister or her insistence on moving to the countryside or her love for simple, primary colors. The only things he’d ever wondered over were if she were alright, if she were happy, and why on all of Ephedia they’d have Iris over every couple of weekends to hide out from her people.

Time had trickled by like the sand humans had apparently enjoyed measuring it in, the years shifting and fading into each other lovingly. A few things had changed over time, like Auriana finally losing her boy craze and settling into a loving relationship with six others- okay, maybe her boy craze wasn’t completely gone. She didn’t search for new boys actively, atleast. Carissa had become queen of Calix, a fiery and loving face to the previously cold mountain nation. Lyna’s elder brother had taken the crown to Borealis, but that was fine for her and her fathers. They made it their mission to rid the nation’s courts of the cruel, sadistic underbelly, as well as freeing whatever political prisoners they uncovered. Izira had settled down with a husband and wife of her own, and was ruling with an iron grip and a gentle smile over Xeris. Praxina was appointed the head guard of Iris’ personal protection squadron, and Mephisto could tell that she enjoyed the hard work. She’d never been one to sit back and sulk, too fired up and ready at all times. The strict order and rigorous, almost clocklike action of being the guard… it was good for her.

Then there were the harder ones to pinpoint. Iris, and her earthling boytoy.

She hadn’t brought him with her, for what reason Mephisto never could fathom. There was never any news through the grapevine of her accepting any of the thousands of proposals she received, from the malicious old sky captains who’d patrolled under Gramorr’s bribery, to the harmless children who asked her with flowers and big eyes after they’d fallen in love with their graceful monarch. There was no scandal to be had about her love life, no favoritism of any staff (beyond, perhaps, his sister, but that was only to be expected from their history), and no hints that she even had it on her mind.

Iris did visit Earth, at first pretty often but as the years wore on slowing to just once each time the boy’s birthday reared its head. Her hair grew obscenely long and her eyes got crooked lines stretching from the corners, her freckles spanning her body like a map of the night sky and her hands calloused from the practice with both sword and magic. All of this was realized at dinner the night of his and Talia’s twenty-third wedding anniversary, which was an odd date to celebrate with his sister, friend (and queen of the planet), and their three children, but not an unwelcome one.

Iris had passed Cerona a bowl of fruit salad with scarred fingers, and dragged trimmed nails (still painted, an earth tradition neither she nor praxina had parted with) through the now whitish gold locks. She’d laughed at Arric’s jokes until she cried, and she gave thoughtful opinions on every topic Zarina presented with childish simplicity and logic that neither parent could follow but that Iris was keen on. Praxina lounged next to her, hair still cropped short other than her unruly bangs- the only rule she was intent on breaking anymore- and her eyes always roaming calmly. Mephisto got the sense that she’d seen a lot more than he had, and part of him was ashamed to admit that his life with Talia had been so fulfilling that he didn’t envy her.

Action had never suited him, not when they were pawns under Gramorr and not when they were children in the capital of Calix, maybe not the most well off but with enough. Then came the attack on the mountains, the burning of Apatura and the seizure of every student of magic in Apatura. As they were lucky, or unlucky enough, to have been present and studying to make their father proud… they were taken. Action had been the last thing he’d resorted to when they were being tortured, when they were being starved, up until he sacrificed everything they’d ever been taught just to stay alive. Then he’d married Talia and lapsed, mostly, back into inaction. Or… as much inaction as one could afford when married to the most beautiful woman on Ephedia and having the three sweetest and most devious children.

But it was hard not to observe their guests, to drink the wine and smile and brush knuckles with Talia, to switch between the stew Praxina had insisted on preparing (just like their father used to make, he’s almost jealous) and Talia’s sweet dried meats and the array of fruits from the nearby village. Cerona was going through her shanila as well, and he can’t help but to smile and blow gusts of air to stir the short strands of reddish brown hair. It was a nice night.

Afterward, Praxina volunteers to help Arric with the dishes, and Iris plays a game of queens and cenberries with Izi, and Mephisto finds himself leaning over his chair in the dining room, staring blankly at the table.

“Something wrong?” Rona asks, bumping hips with him. “Mama noticed you looking faraway at dinner and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Mephisto ruffles her hair, still proud of how quickly she was maturing. “Why didn’t Mama come get me herself?”

“She said Aunt Iris was losing and she had to help her against Izi.”

Mephisto snorts. Typical. “Fair. So, she wanted you to come make sure I was alright?”

She shrugged. “Maybe not in so many words…” She offered a smile as if she’d done something she wasn’t supposed to. “Maybe I noticed it too.”

“Ah.” Mephisto taps her nose with his finger. “So much like Mama.”

“No, so much like me!” She puts a hand on her hip. “Mama’s not a big sister, and she doesn’t have to look after you.”

“Look after me?” Mephisto blinked in surprise. “Oh really.”

“Yes really.”

It takes another few seconds before she speaks again. Leaning against the chair that was normally Arric’s, using a piece of crystal to pull her hair out of her face, he was overcome with pride over how beautiful she was and how happy he was with his family.

“Papa, why do you think Aunt Iris is here?”

And back to what he’d been asking himself since the Queen breezed through their front door, her overnight bag over one shoulder and Praxina just behind her.

“I don’t know, Rona.” Mephisto glances at her. “Do you have any theories?”

“Mmm… maybe she doesn’t like being Queen?” She volunteered. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like being Queen all the time.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Has she ever seemed unhappy with it to you?”

Cerona shook her head. “Well, no. But sometimes she’ll look at the backyard longingly, or spend too long touching a doorway, or she’ll smile at you and Mama when you’re not looking.”

Huh. “Well that’s kind of weird.” He offers slowly. “Maybe I should ask her about it?”

“I think you should. If you don’t, I will, and she’s not gonna tell me anything.” She props her chin up and looks at him as if were a bad thing she wouldn’t get to hear the information firsthand.

He snorts. “I’ll make sure to tell you all about it, as long as she’s alright with it.”

“Got it,” She bumps his hip with her own and heads for the doorway. “I’m going to go take over for her at queens and cenberries. I don’t know how Izi manages to beat the queen with the berries every time, I can never manage it.”

Mephisto can’t help but laugh.

She leaves the room, and his thoughts settle back to what she’d said. Iris, looking at their home like that? Looking at them like that? It could mean honestly anything, but he’d be surprised if it didn’t mean what he’d been suspecting for years, that she was unhappy where she was and escaping to their little paradise. With how often she was there, atleast once a month but sometimes twice or for as long as a week, he’d have been surprised if that wasn’t the case. And the way she’d been proud to perform the ceremony for their wedding… the way she’d drifted between tables with her hair cascading down her back and the way her dress dragged delicately over the petal-strewn floor…

But that was a long time ago, surely something had changed between the homesick seventeen-year-old shakily accepting the throne and the now forty-three-year-old queen likely still sitting in his living room. Surely, she’d had her worldview changed, surely, she’d grown accustomed to it all.

Surely.

But maybe not.

Mephisto glances back at the table and picks up his wineglass, slowly inspecting it. He’d been holding it when Arric collected the dishes, so it hadn’t been collected. Likewise, across the table, Iris’ sat.

“You asked for me?”

He glances to the doorway, and there she is. The Queen of Ephedia, in a loose outfit she claimed was currently popular on Earth containing a loose tank top and large, baggy soft pants that came in tightly at the ankles, with her hair now piled on top of her head and held in place with long, thin crystal shards.

“Want some more wine?” He offers. “I have some cenberry wine, if you aren’t too tired of them.”

Iris laughs, crossing the table to pick up her own dirty glass. “Ah, no, I think I’ll pass on the cenberries. Izi is…” She shakes her head. “A beast at the game. Did you know I’ve never managed to beat her at it?”

He nods. “I do. Did you know that I have?”

She gapes at him, coming to look at the wine cabinet with him, presumably to pick out a different kind. He did know that she enjoyed xerin wine quite a bit, as they usually ended up a few bottles short after her visits. Not that they minded, it was always in good company.

“How did you manage that? I hired a tutor to teach me the game better, and even with that…” Iris clucks her tongue. “I’ll never figure out the strategies she uses. How did you do it?”

“Now that would be telling.” He reaches up to the top of the cabinet and pulls out an unopened bottle, one that must have looked rather familiar once he blew the dust off. Iris blinked at it.

“Is that the wine I had made when I first came? The wedding gift for you two?” She tapped the bottle. “I remember making this. Why not save it for a special occasion?”

“I have a bottle or three saved for those milestones with Talia, but I was thinking you might be craving a taste of home.”

Her mouth clicks shut.

Mephisto winces. “Sorry about that, I was talking with Cerona and… we know I don’t have the most tact.”

“No, it’s fine. I…” Iris looked the bottle over, pulling it into her own hands. “I guess it’d be fine to have some. I’m guessing you want to talk, then?”

He nods, and she seems to echo the nod, only more distracted.

“You’re not in trouble, I just want to…” He made a wiggling hand motion. “You know? We’re practically in-laws, and I still barely know you.”

Iris nodded. “I guess I don’t talk much one on one with you.”

“No, and Praxina doesn’t like to spill secrets.”

“Where do we want to talk?”

“Maybe the balcony over the garden? The night air could help.” He suggests.

Iris nods once, sharply, and pulls a smile back onto her face. “Lead the way.”

He grabs a throw blanket as he takes her into the kitchen to get out that way, knowing that the wind blew harder out in the countryside. The moon was brighter, the trees were heavier, and the air tasted sweeter, something he used to despise when working for Gramorr due to how trapped it reminded him he was.

“I can tell there’s something on your mind too.” She comments as she steps out onto the wood, bare feet on the sun-bleached planks. They’d once been dark grays and blues, now faded to pastels and softened with rain.

“So maybe the talk will be good for both of us.” Mephisto suggests.

“Maybe.”

She sets the wine bottle and her glass down on the little table just in front of the kitchen window, the one he’d stared out many a time while doing dishes. He’d noticed that the sink was clean by the time they came through, so he assumed Praxina and Arric were either spectators to the queens and cenberries game or that they’d gone to do something else. She always had loved her nephew, and greatly enjoyed helping him get better at whatever he’d set his mind to the weekend that his aunt showed up.

He sighed as he settled into the opposite seat, pushing his own glass towards her and settling the blanket on the table between them. It’s silent for a moment as she pops the cork with magic, setting the bottle down to let it settle. And, of course, she adds a crystal ice spell to freeze the glass and hopefully chill the drink while they waited.

“Cerona notices a lot.” He opens, after the crying virras die down to the background.

“Always been an observant child.” Iris agrees.

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t notice things too.” Mephisto finishes the sentence, and she glances over at him. Nothing is said though, so he continues.

“I noticed that you’re here a lot. All the time, it feels like. And it isn’t like you’re not welcome, I know Talia loves having you over and it’s always a joy to see my sister. It’s not like you let the rush of royalty get to your head.” He smiles and taps his temple, and she snorts at it. “But it’s still kind of weird. We don’t see Izira this much, and she lives here in Xeris. We don’t see Carissa, or Lyna, or Auriana but once or twice a year if we’re lucky, and they’re some of our closest friends too.”

“I guess that’s the hazard of all of us being princes or princesses or whatever.” Iris shook her head, fumbling with the bottom hem of her tank top.

Mephisto smiles. “I know that. But with that it makes your visits here stand out. Do you visit Auriana this much?”

Iris shook her head. “She usually comes to me, three or four times a year. Her kids love seeing the capital.”

“And the palace?”

“And the palace.” She rolled her eyes.

Under Iris’ guidance the magic of the castle had turned golden and warm, welcoming and stable as it closed the doors firmly on the tyranny it had escaped. He’d heard from Izira that, being a diplomat, it was as stunning and welcoming as it was towering and warning. It was a show of beauty and one of strength, a simultaneous ‘we’re happy to have you here’ and ‘don’t mistake our hospitality for weakness’. And yet, here sat the Queen, looking small and scolded, as if her tutor had caught her sneaking out. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

More time passed wordlessly, him gathering his thoughts and her seeming to study the garden below them. Mephisto’s eyes roam over it, the climbing vines with cenberries on them and the rows of mounds of dark, rich soil, fruit and sweet vegetables buried beneath and just needing a beautiful day and some kind hands to pull them out.

They didn’t need to garden, but it’d become his hobby in the face of complacency. He didn’t seem to do anything except kiss his wife, wander the town streets when he needed more wine or seeds, shove his hands into wet dirt, and ruffle his children’s hair. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t amazing, but he’d also be lying if he said he’d imagined this was the path his life would take.

“Are you trying to figure out how to politely ask me to leave?”

He blinks. “What? No.”

“It’s fine, really. I know that we’ve never gotten along.” Iris sits up, leaning so that her elbows are on her knees and her hands clasped together between them as she stares at the garden. He can see it now, what Cerona meant. How she looked almost longing. “I know you didn’t really like me. I know that I’m just baggage for Talia, and a chance for you to see Praxina more.”

“Hey, excuse me.” Mephisto turned, tapping the table. “I never said any of that. Don’t put words in my mouth, princ-“

She looks at him as his mouth clicks shut.

She offers a smile. “Guess you can’t call me that anymore, can you?”

“I never really got out of that habit. Talia is still one, and it’s not like I’m in the capital enough to get used to thinking of you as high and mighty and all that.” He waves a hand in the air.

Iris snorts and holds out a hand, showing her magic circle. “Not much has actually changed.”

“Your hair turned white.”

“And you’re getting a few gray hairs in that scruff.” She nods, and he scratches his chin, frowning.

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“You look like a lumberjack, minus the plaid.”

“I don’t know what literally any of those words mean.” Mephisto points out.

Iris looks away and sighs. “Hey, do you think the wine is cold yet?”

That seemed like it was important, but all he can do in reply is pour a little into the glass, whining a bit at the frozen glass, and sip it.

“Mmm… yes, it should be fine. And Iris, what was in the wine again?”

She studied the bottle one last time before she poured herself some, though she nearly filled the glass rather than just to the typical amount. He had a feeling this bottle wouldn’t survive the night.

“Strawberries from a farm in Sunny Bay, blackberries from Nathaniel’s mothers garden, and some grapefruits from the tree I’ve been taking care of since I was five.” She lifts the glass and holds it out, clinking it gently against his and offering a smile. “I guess your comment about a taste of home wasn’t too far off.”

He pours himself a glass, a bit taller than the amount he’d typically go for but probably necessary in the face of her tone. “I guess so.”

He sips some more, and she does the same. There’s a quiet moment again.

A bird lands in front of them, swollen fat and craning its neck to see what they have in their hands. He sees the familiar bright yellow underbelly and rolls his eyes, waving his foot at it to make it back up a few hops.

“Is it supposed to be that color?” Iris asked.

“No, Arric and Izi were practicing some color changing spells on some big pieces of K.V. cloth and Arric missed. She still makes fun of him, you do realize. We tried to fix the bird’s feathers, but…” He tapped the bird on the beak with his big toe, and it squawked at him, pecking his foot in return. “It didn’t work and the bird now thinks we actually like it.”

Iris stares at him for a full few seconds after he finishes speaking.

“What?”

She shakes her head, smiling as she takes another sip of the wine. “Nothing, nothing.”

Mephisto groans. “What, are you going to make fun of me for it? Atleast joke at Talia first, she’s the one who pointed out the bird.”

“How old were they?”

“Well, Arric was…” He mouths the numbers and counts on his fingers. “He was about nine. Izi was six, then?”

“Did you just forget how old your own daughter was?” She asked. “And besides, she’d have been five.”

He frowned, recounted, then had to nod. “Oh, right. She is four years younger than him.”

Iris waggled a finger at him as she steals another sip of the wine. “Hope Talia doesn’t hear about this. What would she think?”

“She’d be surprised I remember how old Arric was! She forgets everyone but Cerona, and asks ‘well how old was Cerona again?’ every time.” He goes into a comical impression of her voice for it. “Once she did it when asking when our wedding anniversary was again- when our wedding anniversary was! I had to remind her how old Cerona was, and she didn’t immediately get it, Iris.”

Iris couldn’t help but laugh at that, and Mephisto would admit that it took some stress off from his apparent earlier blunder.

“Does she really? Do that, I mean.”

He nods. “She does. I wouldn’t lie.”

She shakes her head, draining another long sip.

“So, do you mind if I pry?” He asks. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I do want to make sure you’re okay. You don’t actually think that I don’t like you, right?” He asks.

That gets her to set the wine down, settle back into the seat, and pull the crystal rods from her hair. When she sets them down they dissolve, confirming that they were made of her magic. Her hair sinks in waves down to hang over the back of the chair and to pool in her lap, providing something for her fingers to comb through.

“Iris…?”

She shrugs. “It’s not like we ever got a chance to actually make up. You came back from the dead and fell in love with Talia, and I had to be Queen. That’s it, story closed.”

He groans. “Do you really think I would have let you officiate my wedding if I didn’t like you? That I would have let you keep coming into this house, that I would have took my own ass to the palace every few months just to sit at a big dinner and not be allowed to goof off with my sister, if I didn’t like you?”

“That isn’t a very comforting list of things.” She offers.

“Iris. Sure, I didn’t get to personally come up to you and apologize for almost dying and sending Praxina into a fit, I didn’t get to explain what I meant when I told you that it would have been an honor to serve you and Ephedia, and I didn’t get to really clear the air between us. But klatznik, I thought I didn’t have to.”

Her shoulders sag a bit before she leans forward again, then she gives up on sitting altogether and stands to lean against the balcony railing. A few vines had managed to wrap around and bloom facing her, and he sees her poke one. “You didn’t. You don’t. I just…”

“You just what?” He stands, taking his wine with him to lean against the railing by her. Her hair has gotten much too long, brushing her ankles and looking impossible. She’d grown up to look so much like her mother, and he remembers the bitter gratitude he’d had when the former Queen pardoned him of his ‘crimes’ prior to Iris’ dethroning of Gramorr and ending the tyranny. “I’m clearly not understanding what you mean.”

“I just wish that we’d gotten a chance to become friends.” Iris looks at him, and he can see her deflate a bit with the information. “Before you married Talia, I always thought that I’d get a chance to be your friend. You and Praxina fought us so hard before everything, but in the end when you were finally on the same side as me… there was never any time. It’s not like I had time to get out and hang out anymore, it’s not like I was able to just come over.”

Yeah, he did suppose that she’d really started visiting around when Cerona was young. Of course, she’d come twice a year prior to that, but when Cerona was born was when he’d actually noticed her coming around more often until, of course, it had escalated in the past few years to atleast once a month.

“I thought we were friends.” He replied softly.

Iris shut her eyes. “What’s my favorite color?”

“Uh… I don’t know? Pink?”

“What’s my favorite food?”

“Straw… berries?”

She nodded. “Point made. We don’t talk, ever. How are we supposed to be friends if we don’t talk?”

She had made her point.

“It’s hard to talk to you. Half the time you’re with the kids, the other half you’re just sort of silently staring into space. I don’t want to bother you.” And he knows that’s an excuse, but it’s true.

“Did you ever think that maybe I was waiting for someone to come up and bother me? It’s not like I come out here to be alone.” Iris waved at the garden. “I’m plenty alone in my own damn palace.”

“Is that your issue then? You’re lonely?” Mephisto wishes he knew how to navigate these winds. The breeze had picked up as her tone got more frustrated, and he knew that even if she didn’t sense it, the magic laden in the world around them could.

Iris closed her eyes again and leaned more heavily onto the railing. “That’s not what I said.”

“You just said that. Literally, ‘I’m plenty alone in my own damn palace’.” He quotes. “What else was I supposed to get from that?”

“I don’t know.” She turns and presses her back to the railing, reaching out towards her glass and using a sliver of crystal to carry the wine to her. She moves it too fast though, and it spills down her hand and drips onto the wood. Part of him wonders if it will stain, but the rest just wonders how he’s supposed to take this. Obviously, she had issues, whether it was him or not though was a complete mystery.

“Do you want to know how I beat Zarina?” He asks.

She blinks in confusion, turning to look at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. He supposed for a moment there it might have even seemed like he had.

“In queens and cenberries. Remember?”

Iris nodded silently, seeming to kind of understand what he meant now. “How?”

“I know my daughter.”

She blows out a puff of air. “Yeah, like that will help me. She’s not my kid.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I know her. She doesn’t play to win, did you ever notice that? She always gets all of the trees to produce, and then she’s won.”

“Well what am I supposed to do with that information? That’s how you win.”

He shrugged. “And the queens win by stationing…”

“A queen at every tree? I’ve played the game.”

“But not to get a queen at every tree. You tried to get in the way of her cultivating the trees, didn’t you?”

“Yes, because that’s how you keep the other person from winning.” Iris downed another sip of wine. “We’re just going in circles here.”

“To beat her, you have to work with her. You have to ignore the stakes, ignore what the berries mean to the kingdoms, and focus in on it.” He knew he probably sounded crazy, but she began to nod after a pause.

“So you’re saying the only way to win is not to focus on winning?”

“Against Izi.”

“And what about if I were going against you?”

“You’ve never asked to play against me.”

Iris finished off the last of the wine in her glass. “Because you’re always too busy when I’m here.”

“Touché, I guess.” He offers a smile and finishes his own glass.

“Mephisto…” She looks over at the bottle on the table. “Can I ask you something? It’s been on my mind all night.”

Well, atleast he was making strides somehow. “Of course.”

“Who do you think would be best? Cerona is oldest so she’s probably more ready, but Arric would be such a levelheaded and innovative ruler, and Zarina is so young so she’d have more time to absorb it all. And Rona’s right at the end of her shanila, I can feel it, but… Zarina just has this knack for everything, and Arric is Praxina’s favorite…” She sets her glass down on a little piece of crystal, waving a hand. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. What do you think?”

What he thought would make things clearer just clouded things up further. Mephisto coughs, looking at his own empty glass for help. “Can you just say all of that again, but make sense this time?”

Iris grabbed at the air in front of her and made a frustrated noise. “The future of Ephedia. I… I can’t keep going forever.”

“And you want… what, Cerona to help you out at the palace?” Mephisto’s heart started thudding in his throat. It wasn’t totally unreasonable, and she’d enjoy it, but the thought of her leaving home was still scary.

“No, I…” Iris glanced at the garden again, taking the glass and letting the tiny crystal dissolve. “I need someone to take over, eventually.”

“And you don’t just want to make your own heir?” The words fall from his lips before he even manages to process what she’d said, and the meaning of her words makes him need to brace himself on the railing. She wanted to _what_?

Iris shrugged. “It’s crazy and stupid but I’m… I’m not getting any younger, and I can’t just have a kid.”

“You get proposals constantly, or, or what about the Earthling?” He suggests. Panic is leading him on this one, especially when he remembers that Izi’s birthday hasn’t passed yet and that this plan could suggest she spend it in the palace, of all places. “Does Praxina approve?”

“Praxina… She doesn’t hate it.” Iris shrugged, but sighed anyways. “And Nathaniel’s married. I mean, I wouldn’t just. Spring this on him after, what, twenty years anyways, but he’s married and happy.”

That was news. Mephisto wondered passively if anyone but Praxina knew. “That’s still not an excuse, do you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes. And I know it’s a lot but-“

“No,” Mephisto held up a finger. “First off, Talia would kill me for even not saying no immediately. But second, are you crazy? The nobles would never go for it, and more than that, it’s not fair to us. You can’t just ask me to- to take my daughter away.” He looked over at the bottle of the wine on the table “What are you thinking?”

Iris didn’t reply, swirling her empty glass. For the first time in ages, he wants to shatter it- or anything- but he knows how much legal trouble that would put him in. Praxina would probably have to file a report, and he didn’t even know the laws regarding former war criminals and ‘attacks on the Queen’s life’. Ugh, if only.

Mephisto groaned and turned away from her. “Anything at all? Anything else you want to take while you’re at it, since you seem to think you own everything, princess?” He slips back into the aggressive tone like a silk glove, and the mood returns to the unsteady ice in the beginning.

The back-door creaks open, Praxina stepping out. “Bad time?”

Neither Mephisto nor Iris have the heart to speak, and Praxina raises her eyebrows and awkwardly nods as she moves to sit down, her cider buzzing with heat and sending some steam into the chilly air. “So, I’m going to assume that Iris asked about the thing.”

Mephisto rolled his eyes and walked over to the table to set his glass down. “Yeah. And you know about it.”

“Yes, I do.” Praxina sips the hot liquid.

“And you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s something.”

“No, no. Getting laid is something. Getting married is an option. Her just saying klatznik with your friendship and you two making a kid is an option. Anything other than walking into this house and asking for mine.” He covered his mouth with his hand, sure he’d say something awful if he kept going. “Just. Don’t pretend like you actually support it, Prax.”

Praxina looks over at Iris, blowing on the cider with her eyebrows raised. “I told you that you should’ve brought it up to Talia first.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up at all.” Iris retorted, stalking back to the table to pour herself a new glass, all the way to the brim again. Part of Mephisto wonders why he’s finally getting to see them be honest with each other now.

“No, if you didn’t then you’d die and the kingdom would devolve into straight fucking turmoil until some third cousin with a weak shanila took the throne, then sent the kingdom into civil war when someone’s mother, unrelated to you, tried to take the crown, and then there’d be mass casualties and a cultural divide and long-lasting bitterness.” Praxina said it chirpily, as if she were looking forward to the hundreds of years of political distress, then shook her head. “I’m kidding. You’re not Rellena the Wise.”

Mephisto had to snort, and Iris gestured at him. “See that? That’s why I can’t just have a kid on my own. I don’t know who Rellena the Wise is!”

“Your great great great great grandmother on your mother’s side. Your mother was the first one to inherit a stable kingdom in like two hundred years.” Praxina supplied.

Iris looked at Mephisto. “Did you know that?”

He nodded. “I still have a book on her.”

“Did you read it to the kids?”

He couldn’t help but nod again, looking to Praxina for help. “Of course I did, who wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t.” Iris groans and shoves her glass in Praxina’s direction, his sister already casting a crystal spell around the drink so that it doesn’t get wasted. Again, he can’t help but wonder why he’s getting to see this, but he doesn’t doubt it’s a routine. “I didn’t get to know about Rellena the Wise when I was a kid. I heard about the- the magic school bus and ice cream trucks and Cinderella!”

“I don’t know what any of th-“ 

“I know you don’t!” Iris yells, interrupting him. “That’s the fucking point! I don’t know anything, and everything I do know is useless information. If I had a kid I wouldn’t even know what to do, and watching them go on to become better than me and be more adjusted than I ever could do…” She wrung her hands and turned her face up to look at the stars. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So you, what, want to just take my daughter? My son? My youngest?” The conversation finally gets back to the point. “Skip all the hard parts and just rob the cradle? Do whatever you want, like you always do?”

“That’s not what it is!” Iris looked at him, then Praxina. “I’m not stealing your kids, and I’m not just doing what I want! I’m trying to do what’s right.”

“At what cost?” Mephisto looked between his glass and the ground, then cast his arm aside and slammed it down, the glass splattering by his feet. He’d have to clean it up, be careful to get all the shards, but honestly it was worth it. 

Praxina’s face fell as she stood up. “Both of you need to calm down.”

When had she gained the powerful temper to her voice? Was it through the hundreds of guards she’d whipped into shape, or was it from being Iris’ closest friend, or was it just something that she’d always had? Somehow the years had shifted it, but even with her being around once a month he can’t place how. Maybe that would have troubled him, but he was more annoyed by the satisfaction of smashing something being interrupted.

“Iris doesn’t mean to be rude and you know it. Iris, it isn’t a great plan either, but it’s about how you sell it.” Praxina sets her cider down on the table, taking the blanket from wherever Iris had put it and wrapping it around her own shoulders. “She’s not trying to personally spite you or steal from you. You’re like an old dog,”

“Stubborn?” He suggested.

“Selfish. Stuck in your ways. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. When you were seven you told me to kill you if you ever touched a gardening kitz again.” She pointed at the worn gardening tools, sloppily painted a long time ago and faded like the deck under their feet. “I bought you some for your birthday a few years ago, and you smiled and thanked me because you, to quote, ‘had been meaning to get a new pair’. Does that sound like it makes sense?”

“I changed as I got older, Praxina. So did you! You told me that if you ever worked for the Queen you wanted to trip me at the ceremony.”

“And you fucking didn’t.” She sniffed.

“Yeah, you tripped on your own. And stop saying fuck.”

Praxina shook her head. “Whatever. That’s not the point, idiot. I’m not going to defend the idea, but at the same time… atleast consider it.”

Iris reached through the crystal Praxina had put her glass in to close her still manicured nails around it, looking between them. “I’m going back inside.”

Frustration built up at the back of his throat like a scream, but the night was far too quiet for that. The door shut behind her and he looked at Praxina.

“Aw, your feelings hurt?” She chided him. “Too bad.”

“I remember when you used to be on my side.” He pointed out, looking at the glass by his foot.

“And I remember when you held onto my sleeves because you were scared to walk without someone else there.”

“You were my twin, yeah, but you were always my big sister.”

“And you’re my little brother.” She reached over to ruffle his hair, sighing as she looks at the mess on the deck. “Are you going to make me clean that up?”

He snorted and started to cast the spell, gently gathering the shards up. “No. But… you don’t really support that idea, right?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m always up for seeing my little brother’s adorable little spawn,” she pinched his cheek, nearly killing his concentration. “And I know that they’ve got enough of us and Talia in them to make them want to take on the challenge. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea, or that Iris is a good teacher, or that they’d enjoy it.”

Mephisto sighed in relief. “So you understand? Why I don’t want her to do it, I mean. Why I’m terrified.”

She rubbed his shoulder. “She’s scared too. She doesn’t have a legacy, just the scraps after a civil war.”

“She has the palace. She has you.”

Praxina shrugged. “Would you be happy if that was all you had?”

That made him think for a minute, pausing his pickup of the glass shards. It’d honestly never occurred to him that Iris wasn’t satisfied with her lot in life. She didn’t come from his humble roots, didn’t have the baggage that he and Praxina shared. She was a lot busier than him, maybe moreso than Praxina, but still…

“So she’s what, bitter and wanting something she can’t have?”

“She’s jealous, but I don’t know if it’s so much what she can’t have and more what she thinks she lost the chance to get. It isn’t just about you or Talia, too.” She bumps his hip, fritzing the spell and accidentally letting the glass shards fall back to the floor.

They share a look before threading their fingers through each other’s, casting the spell together. It was easier that way, after all.

“Does she look at Auriana’s like this?” Mephisto asks, maybe a bit pettily. He can be petty.

“No, but that doesn’t mean it’s something against you. Her and Auriana’s kids, beyond Matyo, don’t connect. Carissa’s son and Lyna’s triplets aren’t around enough either. She thought it might be easier if it was someone she knew and that knew her, and all the others still call her your highness or miss because they don’t know she hates it.”

“What was Carissa’s son’s name again?” Mephisto paused, trying to remember. He was a year older than Cerona, and the two were friends, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember the redhead’s name.

“Dmitri.” Praxina sighed. “Cute kid, great right hook, but a bit too much like his mother.”

“She’s doing well with Calix,” Mephisto volunteered. “That’s not something to take lightly.”

“She handled a recent border skirmish with Volta by laughing. Nix nearly had her head, and you know how she feels about violence.”

He did have to nod at that. “True. So, not him. Does Iris ever see her nieces and nephews?”

Praxina snorted. “She was still a bit weirded out when Lyna told her that they were related, but she does visit regularly. Not nearly as often as you and Talia, but definitely once every two or three months. They love their ‘Aunt Iris’ but they also don’t know her that well. They’re very self-absorbed.”

Mephisto honestly couldn’t argue with that. Tessa, Tyson, and Teresa were three of the most tight knit siblings on all of Ephedia, and he had basically lived alone with his sister and Gramorr for six years prior to the mission beginning.

But he didn’t want to think about that.

Mephisto closed his eyes. “I can’t let her take them from me, Prax.”

She rubbed between his shoulderblades, taking her attention off the glass shards for a second. “I know.”

Maybe that was why panic had flooded him so quickly, why it turned from a soft conversation to him slamming his glass down. He lifts the pile of shards on his own and slowly crushes it, turning it into a baby-fist sized chunk of glass. Then he started fiddling with it, carving into it with magic meticulously.

The wind whistles around them, starting to pick up a bit. Maybe it’s a good thing Iris went inside, the capital never got this cold. It was a near paradise, a magical bubble of mostly good weather. Even the rainstorms there were melodic and comforting, promising a better day tomorrow. In the countryside it was less like that, the weather less predictable but more relaxing nevertheless. Garden got uprooted from the storm? Make a weekend of it, invite the neighbors. Need to repair the house in case something crashes into it? Turn it into a lesson with the children. It was just something that happened, part of the day to day.

He closes his eyes and lets the piece of glass, still hot from the magic, settle into his hand.

Praxina slides her fingers, unbearably cool, into his hand to pull it out and take a look. He immediately misses the weight of it, but knows that if he looks at it again, the image still burned in his mind, he’d be sick.

“Still?”

He nods.

Praxina crushes it, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “Me too.”

What he wouldn’t give to have never had Gramorr in his life. But without him, would he have managed to meet Talia?

The air began to smell like rain and he pulled away to grab her now cold mug, offering a halfhearted smile. “Ready to go in? I think we’ve used up all our luck just keeping the storm from coming.”

Praxina pulled the blanket tighter around herself and nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

Mephisto casts one last look to the garden and the sky as the wind comes harder, what had started as a clear night now darkened with thick, rolling clouds and the threat of rain. He breathes in deeper, tasting the cenberries on the breeze along with the static of lightning about to begin, and closes the door behind them.

The house is mostly dark by now, the game probably ended and Zarina put to bed. Cerona was probably in bed as well, though whether she was getting an early night’s sleep or rereading old stories was something he wouldn’t know unless he knocked on her door. Not that he would, but it was true.

Arric is still up, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with a cup of cider himself and closed eyes. Mephisto ruffled his hair and offered his son a smile as he pours out the cold cup, knowing how his sister felt about cold drinks that were supposed to be warm.

“Get some sleep, okay?”

Arric hums, Praxina hopping up on the counter across from him. “We’ll see about that, zebena.”

Arric snorts and pokes his dad with his bare foot, Mephisto can’t help but smile.

This was his life.

Why did it suddenly feel like it was all ending?

The trek to his and Talia’s room is a long one, accentuated by the gritty taste of wine on the back of his tongue and the stress now weighing on his shoulders. He’s glad, passing by his daughter’s rooms, that the guest rooms are on the opposite side of the house… he didn’t think he could handle bumping into Iris again tonight. He suddenly remembers that he forgot to get the wine from outside, but he decides that it wouldn’t be a waste if the whole thing got washed out. It was a gift, but he’d never been the grateful type.

He stops by the bathroom first to wash out his mouth, trying not to look in the mirror either. Too much felt fresh and new right now, reopened wounds from things he didn’t want to think about right alongside ancient issues he didn’t even realize he had. The sudden backwash of fatherly protection from a fear that he’d be just like his own father, that he’d be left in the dust and never see them again? It ached like a mouthful of fresh xerin wine, stung like the fact that he wouldn’t recognize his father if they passed each other in the street.

His eyes catch their pairs in the glass, and he takes a deep breath.

“Mephisto of Apatura, when it came down to it, what would you do?” He whispered.

That wasn’t true anymore. “No, no. Mephisto of Calix? Mephisto of Ephedia? Mephisto of Xeris? Mephisto of Gardening Kitz and Cenberries?” He groaned and stood up, dropping his hands into the sink. “I wonder how Praxina does it.”

No point in moping, he was much too old for that. He might as well just go to bed and let his wife cheer him up.

Actually… He finds his reflection smiling softly, the mere thought of Talia brightening his mood a bit. Yeah, that was what usually brought him back whenever he started thinking himself into a box. She’d pet his hair and talk to him, maybe tell him a story or just talk out his problems, and it would _work_. She was good for him, and he wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to him earlier to just escape to her side.

He splashes some water in his face and rubs it off with the towel, glancing back up at himself.

“Mephisto, husband to Talia, Princess of Xeris.” He tests.

Yep, like a glove.

He smiles and runs a hand through his hair, leaving the bathroom as the patter of rain begins outside. Good timing. He’d find time to lament the loss of the wine yesterday, for now he was just glad that it wasn’t killing his tastebuds.

The light in their room is still on, and when he finally gets inside she’s brushing her hair absentmindedly in front of the mirror. She hums at him when the door closes, but he doesn’t find any words.

Talia had changed over the years too, but not much.

Her hips were still perfect for slotting his hands onto, her hair still the gorgeous shade of brown that he’d always associated with warmth and home. Her hands, shaped for holding books and scepters, fall to cover his as he comes to inhabit the space behind her. She’d cut her hair down to shoulder length a while back, losing the length and letting herself have something cooler. He didn’t miss it for anything but when she’d let him sit and comb it out, peppering her bare shoulders with kisses and figuring out each ticklish spot.

Her eyes are hidden by her bangs right now but he knows that the clear honey-gold shines through to brighten his dreams when they drift too far from thoughts of her, and her smile at seeing him through the mirror washes over him like a fresh breeze.

He buries his nose into her neck, seeking comfort and cuddles. “Zebetta, missed you.” he mumbles. 

“How are you feeling?” She reaches back to pull her hair into a loose bun, unfazed by the face in her shoulder. “How did your talk with Iris go?”

Mephisto groans.

“I had a bad feeling when Rona came to check in on the game. Want to talk about it?”

That was what he’d wanted but at the same time his gut reaction to having to talk about it is another, louder groan. She tuts at him and turns to catch his face in her hands, a worried frown on her face. “Debe, talk to me. What’s been bothering Iris? Is something bothering you?”

He bit his lip as he met her eyes, unable to look away from them. He’d always liked honey and gold when he was growing up, but nothing could compare to how pretty her eyes were. Then the dark lashes surrounding them and the barely-there creases at the corner of her eyes, laughter lines… he loved this woman so much.

“I think I’m turning into my father.” It fell from his lips before anything that made sense could, and he winced at it. It sounded stupid coming out of his face like that.

“Explain?”

Mephisto lifted his own hand to cup hers against his cheek, sighing. “When I was young it was just him, praxina, and me. And that was okay, I guess, but when Gramorr burned Apatura…. I never got to see him again, Talia. He dropped us off that morning, and by lunchtime we were trapped in the school.”

“You never talked about this. You were there that day?” She blinks at him, obviously concerned. 

“That’s how Gramorr got us. He burned everything, then he went into the school and took everyone. Just snatched us while everything we loved burned. And I never got to see my father again, I don’t even know if he’s alive or what he was like.”

Talia nodded slowly. “I understand. Why are you scared that you’ll be like him? Nothing… well, I won’t say that nothing will happen. But we can protect them, and neither of us will let someone force our children to be… just like us.” He remembers the tear-filled night the eve of Izira’s coronation, when Talia cried into his shoulder about her stolen childhood. He remembers petting her hair and murmuring that he knew and slowly filing the information away for later, back when they were just close but weren’t anything yet.

Before he knew how perfect, how blessed he was to have her in his life.

“I know.”

“Then you know that we won’t let it happen.” She repeats. “Cerona, Arric, Zarina. They’re not you, and they’re not me. They’re ours, and you’re not your father and I’m… I’m not Izira.”

“No, we’re not. But… Iris wants to take one of them. And I don’t want them, any of them, to just remember me smiling as they get taken and then never see us again… I can’t handle that, and you know it.”

Instead of the outrage he’d been expecting to see, her face turns into a tired one, as if she’d just had a long conversation about the topic. “I know.”

“You… you know? That she wants to do that?” He whispered.

Talia nods. “I bumped into Iris after your talk, and she was just as frustrated. She started crying, though, so I walked her to bed. She told me what she was thinking and explained what she meant and what she wanted and whatnot, but I didn’t want to start our conversation with ‘Iris this’ or ‘Iris that’. You don’t need that.”

He nodded. “That was basically the first three years that we knew each other.” Mephisto glances down at her pajamas and wraps his free arm around her waist, stepping closer to her. “Iris this and Iris that and ‘stop trying to kidnap my friends’.” He rolled his eyes. “I was a stupid kid.”

She tapped his nose, smiling. “Yes you were. Now, what did you think about it?”

“It?”

“Her idea. Or failure of one, from what I heard your opinion was.”

Mephisto pressed his face into her shoulder again. “I hate it. I don’t want to lose them. They’re so young, zebetta, they’d forget our faces before she even abdicated the throne. And she’d give it up too early! She’s irresponsible and childish and selfish and thinks everything on the planet is hers to just ravage and take.” His hand clenched into a fist, pulling away from her so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her. “I won’t let her.”

“Whoa whoa! Slow down comet, bring it back to me.” Talia pulled him back up to look at her, offering a grounding smile. “Before you go too far down that track, hear me out.”

What?

“Think about this for a moment.” She pulled a hand back to tap his nose again. “Debe, the castle library is…” She shook her head, obviously unable to find the words. “And it’s filled with the most capable scholars of our generation, diplomats from the whole planet, people from every walk of life. The steps we have taken and the things we have seen will not be enough in this world that our friends have built, our children will need to know more to become better than us.”

Mephisto swallowed. “They already are better.” He doesn’t add the silent ‘than me’, but he knows she hears it just as clearly.

“Hush. Think about this. When Iris offers something, she comes through, right?”

He blinks. “What has she ever offered us?”

“This home used to be a property of her Mother’s. The chance to live quietly, unburdened with politics. Your full pardon. We may not owe her anything, but you have to admit that her track record has been good so far.”

Mephisto rested his hands back on her hips, sighing softly “I suppose. This house used to be Queen Mora’s?”

“This whole half of town was Queen Mora’s.” Talia amended. “It was a ghost town when she was overthrown, then filled up over the years as Gramorr tightened his grip. The well-stocked homes were attractive to vandals and refugees alike.”

Her husband hummed, nodding. “Fair enough.”

She nodded back at him. “Now, think about it. Iris is desperate for help. She’s lonely in that castle. Not a soul in the world but Praxina, right debe?”

“She has an army of advisors and guards to talk to.”

“Yes, just like you have a backyard full of madeccas.” She tsked at him.

“That was not my fault! The storm knocked all of them over and they refuse to grow back.”

“And she can’t talk to any of them about her problems or expect them to have solutions.” Talia countered.

“Why do you make it so hard to argue?” Mephisto groaned, pulling back so that he could flop onto the bed. She sat down next to him, tapping her fingers in a rhythmic pattern on his leg.

“Because it’s not an argument.”

She had him there.

“Anyways, if you’ll let me finish.” Talia fixed him with a pointed look. “She’ll have tutors in every subject I can think of and sixty more. She’ll personally spare time out of her day to teach them things only she can. Even if none of them want to follow through, this is an opportunity not many ever get. This is an opportunity that I would have killed for at their ages, from Cerona all the way down to Zarina.” She put a hand on his cheek to turn it towards her. “I don’t want to be the one to say no.”

“Then let me.” He whispers.

“No, no, that’s not what I had in mind.” Talia tapped his lips, and he bit at her fingertip lightly, gently. “I’m thinking… we go.”

And there was when his heart stopped.

“We?” Mephisto whispers.

Talia nodded for the millionth time. “Mhm. I go with the kids. Give them an option, let them all see how it is. If they want to stay, then they can stay and learn. If they learn then want to leave, then that’s okay. If they hate it and want to leave immediately,” She moved to lay down next to him. “Then they’ll be swept back home to you.

“What if I lose all of you?” Mephisto’s eyes couldn’t pull away from her lips, too tired to focus anywhere else. Her lips purse then kiss his cheek.

“You won’t. None of us will be lost. It’s the capital of Ephedia, it’s safe.”

Somehow, he wasn’t comforted.

But she slides a hand under his shirt to cup his hip, and he steals a tentative kiss. It feels like they’re suddenly twenty years in the past, kissing like idiots clumsily in the back before anyone noticed they were gone. The only difference was the pace and that her hair no longer tangled his fingers, that they both had a few more scars and callouses than then, that they were older, that they had all the time in the world.

Mephisto pushes all his fears out of his mind and pulls his wife to rest on his chest, tracing a line from her collarbone to the dip of her navel. “Want to stop talking?” He whispers.

She steals another kiss like the breath from his lungs, answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this hoe is doing writing and art commissions over thru @spookyghostnerd on tumblr. hit me up. thanks for reading~


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